The Long Run
by lu.chan93
Summary: All Amy Collins ever wanted was a place on the Enterprise.  But when an accident and an overbearing father land her on DS9, Amy will have to prove herself.  To everyone.   OC-oriented, but please give it a chance!   T for violence, future suggestive cont.
1. Trial By Fire

**WARNING: This fic is OC-oriented, so if you are opposed to OC's, please leave now. However, if you're feeling adventurous, I'd be very happy if you gave her a chance. Constructive criticism only, please! And I welcome reviews like a kid welcomes Christmas presents.**

**Enjoy!**

The stale taste of replicated Earl Grey did nothing to improve an early-rising ensign's already stormy mood. Her roommate didn't believe in actually cooking things, preferring to rely on technology rather than traditional methods… like a tea kettle. She caught her reflection in the window, the thick dark brown hair carelessly braided over her shoulder and her vivid blue eyes most apparent against the backdrop of the city. One of the few things she didn't like about Starfleet- the apartments they assigned you didn't always have stellar views. A real shame, especially in the London area. There were so many lovely rural views that better suited her tastes than the sterile view of modernized London. Her thoughts were interrupted by the computer's chirp.

"Amelia Collins, incoming transmission from Admiral Collins," the automated voice announced, and Amy grimaced. She had been afraid of that. Quickly walking over to the standard issue display screen on her desk, she fussed with her pajamas in futility before reaching down to tap a button on the monitor. It sprang to life and she snapped to attention.

"At ease, ensign," her father rumbled in deep, gravelly tones. His black hair, dotted with white and grey, receded to a sharp widow's peak which drew attention to the severe thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows that framed a set of bright blue eyes, much like his daughter's. Everything about this man was severe, from his eyebrows to his crow's feet, from the hard glint in his eye to the set of his mouth. This man exuded rigidness. Amy hoped to god that her years at Starfleet wouldn't harden her like they had so obviously hardened this man. She finally relaxed out of attention, minimally, as the Admiral began to speak.

"You aren't dressed already, Amelia? You're set to embark the _Odyssey_ at 0800 hours."

"Yes sir, I only live three blocks from the docking station, and it's only 0600, sir," she replied in a clipped, precise London accent. But when the Admiral's eyes narrowed, she winced.

"Excuses like that won't get you far, ensign. Why do you think you were assigned to Deep Space Nine?"

"Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I managed to save a life because of it?" Amy couldn't keep a little of the acid from her voice.

"Amelia!" Her father barked, and she instinctively snapped to attention once again. "You're not a teenager any more, Amelia. You need to start taking yourself, and your duties, more seriously. I know you wanted to be assigned to the Enterprise, but I honestly don't think you're ready for it. Deep Space Nine is just temporary, until you prove to me that you're ready for greater responsibilities."

"Yes, sir," Amy replied stiffly, crossing her arms in a way that she later hoped didn't demonstrate her surly attitude too openly.

The Admiral sighed, leaning back in his chair with a soft chuckle. "Stubborn to the last. You look so like your mother…" Another sigh, and Amy looked away, an embarrassed blush creeping into her pale cheeks- her mother had passed away several years ago. He sat up suddenly, and the professional glint was back in his eyes.

"Ensign." She snapped back to attention, recognizing his formal tone.

"Attend to your duties diligently at Deep Space Nine. Take the initiative. Show me that you're responsible, and are capable of handling greater things. Then we'll talk. I want monthly reports of your progress there."

"Yes, sir," she responded, knowing the conversation was drawing to a close.

"And… Amelia?" His voice softened, and Amy looked up in surprise. Her father wasn't really one to get emotional.

"Yes, father?"

"…Good luck." The Admiral terminated the link, but Amy could have sworn she saw him blink back a few tears before his face was replaced with the Federation insignia.

Amy blinked back a few tears, herself, touched by her father's unexpected display of emotion. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her bathrobe and headed to her closet. The doors swung open, and there hung her uniform, the turquoise shoulders contrasting sharply with the crisp black torso and pants. It came easily off the hanger, and she donned it hastily. Walking over to the floor-length mirror, steady fingers fastened the single pip onto her collar, designating her rank. She looked up at her messy, frazzled hair in disdain and quickly finger-combed out the braid, smoothing the flyaways before reaching up and expertly looping her hair together in a tight French-braid, the tail just barely touching her mid-back. Scooping up her Commbadge quickly, she pinned it on to her uniform, just above her heart.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, she smoothed the creases in her uniform anxiously, picked up her standard-issue duffel bag filled with her personal effects (that couldn't easily be replicated) and walked out the door, locking it behind her.

* * *

><p>When she got there, the shuttle had already landed, even though she wasn't due for another thirty minutes. Amy caught sight of the pilot, and nearly fainted. It was… it appeared to be… Declan Keough, <em>captain<em> of the _U.S.S. Odyssey!_ That meant three things. First, that the _Odyssey_ was going to be her transport to DS9; second, that her father pulled some strings that he shouldn't have; and third, that he talked to Keogh himself and convinced him to greet her in person. Normally, that would be a huge honor, and Amy would be lying to herself if she said she hadn't always dreamed of seeing the inside of the _Odyssey_ someday. But how was she ever going to escape the "Admiral's daughter" stigma if he kept treating her like she was special?

Keogh, who had been leaning against the shuttle, stood up when he caught sight of Amy, straightened his jacket with a tug, and strode over to her. Her pulse jumped and Amy dropped the duffel bag, snapping to attention. The Starfleet captain waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"As you were, Ensign. I'm sure you know who I am."

"Uh, yes, sir! Captain Keogh, of the _U.S.S. Odyssey_, sir," Amy stated, her anxiety barely concealed. Keogh chuckled, patting her on the shoulder.

"Relax, Ensign. You look like you're about to be taken before a firing squad," he said laughingly before extending his hand. She took it after a moment's hesitation, surprised at his firm grip. When he released her, she had to resist the urge to massage the blood back into her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Amelia. Your father has told me so much about you."

"Thank you, sir, but the pleasure is mine," she managed around an inward grimace. "You're… something of a legend back at the Academy."

**A little ego-stroking can't hurt, right? Especially with _his_ type.**

"Well, is that so?" Keogh said, preening his feathers. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, scrambling into the shuttle after him.

"I'll let you take the helm, Ensign. You won't get much of a chance at it once you get to Deep Space Nine. It's good to stretch your wings every now and then."

"Thank you, sir," Amy replied, sliding into the seat at helm while the captain made his way into its twin. She did the routine check, making sure everything was operating normally before turning in her seat to face Keogh.

"Whenever you're ready, Ensign," he said, nodding to her implied request. She turned back around, her fingers flying over the buttons on the console expertly. The shuttle hummed to life and after a few moments the docking clamps disengaged. The shuttle touched off, rising slowly from the landing pad. As they made their slow ascent into space, the monologue that Amy had feared began.

"You know, Amelia, your father and I served together on the Odyssey for years, before he got promoted. I've never met a more honorable, dedicated man. He accomplished many great things, even before his appointment to Admiral. He rose to every challenge presented to him and always went above and beyond the call of duty. It was an honor to serve with him."

"Thank you, sir, I'm sure that means a lot to him," Amy provided, unsure what else to say.

"We still keep in touch," the captain went on as if Amy hadn't spoken. "He never stops talking about you. He'd never admit it to you, Amelia, but he's really proud of all you've been able to accomplish in your short time at Starfleet. Which is why it's all the more important to do your best at Deep Space Nine. Prove to him that one little mishap won't keep you from your goals. He expects great things from you. We all do. And who knows? Maybe someday you'll get to serve on a _real_ starship. Have you ever thought about serving on the _Odyssey_? Picard, he's a great man, but he's gotten soft with old age. Between you and me, I'm not sure he has what it takes to command a starship out there on the frontier. Out there you have to make snap decisions, hard choices. You can't let your emotions get in the way; you have to be willing to sacrifice a few lives for the greater good. Picard does not fit that bill."

"I'll… keep it in mind, sir," Amy replied, working very hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. She was beginning to take an inherent dislike to this man. Luckily, before the Captain had a chance to continue, they caught sight of the _Odyssey_. Amy's mouth dropped open- the ship filled the shuttle's entire view-screen! She'd heard stories, but it was hard to imagine the sheer size of it until it was staring her in the face. Keogh tapped his Commbadge and issued the first of many orders on this venture.

"Keogh to _Odyssey_. Open the doors to Shuttle-bay 2."

_"Doors to Shuttle-bay 2…. Open, sir!"_ came the reply, and the occupants of the shuttle watched as the shuttle-bay doors slid open. Once the doors locked into place, Amy maneuvered the shuttle in and gently touched her down. As soon as the shuttle-bay doors were closed, she ran the standard-procedure system checks before opening the shuttle door and shutting down. The Captain got off first, then turned around and looked at her expectantly. Amy grabbed her duffel bag before snapping to attention.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?"

"Granted, Ensign. Welcome aboard the _Odyssey_."

* * *

><p>"…And this is the bridge. Your father worked tactical back when we were both ensigns, at that very terminal. You can take a closer look, if you'd like…" Keogh gestured to the terminal, and the officer working there stepped aside, giving Amy a disdainful once-over. Her eyes tightened- another who just thought she was some spoiled brat. Like she <em>asked<em> for all this?

"No, no, sir, I don't want to interrupt," she tactfully declined, backing up a few steps and allowing the tactical officer to resume his post.

"Well, Amelia, have I left anything out?" The Captain put a guiding hand on her elbow as they made their way back to the turbolift.

"Well, sir… The only things you haven't shown me are Sickbay and the lounge," Amy reminded him quietly. "And my quarters," she tagged on as an afterthought.

"Well, Ensign? Which would you prefer?"

"Sir?"

"Sickbay, the lounge, or your quarters? Which shall it be?"

"Oh, definitely my quarters, sir," she replied, gesturing to the duffel bag still strung over her shoulder.

"Ah," he agreed. "Deck 8." The turbolift sprang to life, and soon it came to a stop, the doors swishing open. Amy stepped out after a gesture from Keogh, and quickly fell into step behind him as he escorted her to her quarters. As they walked, she noticed several crewmen in groups of two or three. When she approached, they continued their conversation in significantly lower tones, but watched her from the corner of their eyes. She gritted her teeth and smiled tightly at each one whose eyes she met; no need in picking a fight.

"After a couple hours of leisure, I want you to report to sickbay, where you will act out the remainder of your voyage on the _Odyssey_," he explained with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, here we are," he said as they came to a stop in front of the quarters which were temporarily hers. He tapped on the pad by the door for a moment, and it swished open. She walked in and turned around to face him, coming to attention.

"Thank you, sir," she said formally. Keogh smiled as if he were indulging a child.

"We'll be at DS9 before you know it."

**Too soon. All too soon.**

* * *

><p>After two hours of "rest," which entailed sitting in her chair while drumming her fingers on the desk, lying in bed while swinging her foot off the edge, and pacing the floor relentlessly, Amy reported to Sickbay. Upon seeing her, the chief medical officer exhaled impatiently and strode over to her. She snapped to attention.<p>

"Ensign Collins, reporting for duty, sir." He waved away her handshake, clearly not wanting to be bothered even with introductions.

"Dr. Mitchell. Look, I don't have time to be babysitting a transit. Just… stay out of the way." Leaving Amy in shock, he scuttled back to his office, grabbing a data padd before shutting the doors behind him. She looked around in embarrassment before noting that the sickbay was luckily clear of patients. Deciding that she might as well be useful, as well as feeding her minor OCD, she grabbed a free data padd and headed to the storage cabinets, cataloguing the medical supplies thoroughly.

One hour passed into two, and two into three with minimal activity. Dr. Mitchell ignored her whenever he had to tend to a patient, and kept to his office otherwise. After another hour of inventory, again, Amy set the padd down and plopped onto a bio-bed. She just barely had time to breathe when a call came for her.

"_Lieutenant Harrison to Ensign Collins_."

"Collins here."

"Please report to Transporter Room 3 in fifteen minutes. We'll be arriving at Deep Space Nine shortly."

"Yes, sir. Collins out." Finally. Amy could only hope that things would go more smoothly on the station than on this blasted ship.

Clocking out with the Doctor, she practically ran to her quarters where she grabbed her still-packed duffel-bag, made the bed, and locked the door. From there she walked quickly to the turbolift that would take her to the transporter room. The doors to the lift had just opened when the whole ship shook. She made it out of the lift and down the hallway. Amy almost reached the transporter room when a larger impact sent Amy headlong into a very firm-looking wall. A strong pair of arms grabbed her before impact, and once her feet were steady underneath her she straightened and looked up.

"Ensign Collins, right?" Her savior asked in an urgent tone.

"Yes, sir, why?"

"You're chief medical officer now. Dr. Mitchell is dead."

As they ran to Sickbay, the man explained that Bajoran rebels, who had been lying in wait behind one of Bajor's moons, began firing on the _Odyssey_ almost as soon as they were within transporter range of the station. The shields were down in preparation for transport. The first shot hit Sickbay full-on, killing the Doctor and two of his patients, as well as several other crewmen who had the misfortune to be on that deck before the emergency shields went up in the hallway, and the main shields were back online. They were on their way there now to salvage what materials they could before setting up a temporary sickbay in the lounge to treat the wounded.

* * *

><p>With the help of red-jacket Bell, Amy had managed to evacuate the lounge and set up a makeshift sickbay there. She sorted the wounded into three categories; yellow- major injuries, but stable; red- critical condition; and black- terminal or deceased. A quick scan of the patient, a mark on their hand, and a seat on the floor before moving on to the next one. There was no time to waste, and the injured seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.<p>

"Where are all these people coming from?" Amy called to Bell as they scanned their patients.

"Did you feel those tremors just a few minutes ago? They must have scanned explosives onto different parts of the ship while our shields were down," he replied, taking one patient's hand and marking it yellow before moving on. She nodded her understanding before tapping her Commbadge.

"Collins to Bridge, I'm running out of space down here, and they just keep coming. I don't have the staff to treat these people!"

"_Captain here- sorry, Ensign, but you're going to have to make do. Once we've got these bastards, we can contact DS9 and beam down the critical patients._"

"Yes, sir, but please hurry! Collins out."

Amy scanned a young woman briefly, but she could tell just from looking at the foot-long gash in her side that there was no saving this one. She picked up the woman's hand and marked it with a black dot before letting go. The woman's hand closed around her wrist, and Amy turned back in surprise.

"Doctor…" She whispered. "Am I going to make it?" Amy patted her hand gently and smiled reassuringly. She always hated this part.

"You're going to be just fine. Now, I've got to go see my other patients, but I'll be right back to take care of you, okay?" The woman relaxed her grip, slumping from exhaustion. At the same time, another blast sent Amy careening backwards, straight into her now two-time savior.

"We seem to be making a habit of this," he said with a weary smile as she caught her balance.

"That we do," she agreed. "Okay, now that we've categorized them, we need to treat the critical patients as best we can until they can be transported to DS9."

"Yes, sir," Bell responded, setting to work after she briefly explained what to do for each injury.

A good half-hour later, relief finally came.

"_Ensign, prepare to be beamed directly to the station with your patients. Your belongings will be sent later._"

"Yes, sir." A few moments later, Amy was looking around a large, grey, dimly lit room now filled with all her injured. She had no sooner stood up than a tall, extremely attractive young man came out of what was marked as the infirmary- thank heaven, he was wearing medical blue. He spotted her and immediately changed course, stretching out his hand.

"Doctor Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of DS9. You must be Ensign Collins. I was informed of the situation, but I do suppose you'd better bring me up to speed on your end," he said as he pulled out his scanner.

"Yes, sir. I categorized them with the standard yellow, red, and black. I did what patching up I could under the circumstances, but I'm afraid if some of these don't get treated in the next five minutes, they could shift from critical to terminal."

"Excellent thinking, Ensign. And might I observe that the 'patch-ups' are quite well done? Here, help me get this one into the infirmary."

* * *

><p>After several grueling hours of treating, healing, and body-bagging, the situation was finally under control. Julian leaned against the wall of the infirmary, smiling wearily at an equally tired Amy who was bracing herself on the edge of a bio-bed.<p>

"You handled yourself brilliantly, Ensign."

"Thank you, sir, but please, call me Amy," she replied with an exhausted grin. He returned the smile with a friendly wink.

"Then I insist you call me Julian. Why don't you go see Captain Sisko, and have someone show you to Quark's. I'll buy you a drink. You deserve one after a day like today."

"Yes, sir," she replied, not without enthusiasm, and marched toward the door.

"Oh, and Amy?"

"Yes, s- Julian?" Amy turned, halfway out the door.

"Welcome to Deep Space Nine." She smiled and headed to Ops with a slight bounce in her step. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Well, please let me know what you think! I can't grow as a writer if I get no criticism!<strong>

**TBC**

**If you like getting reviews, give one! :D**


	2. Baptism by Fire

**Okay, I need to preface this chapter by saying that this entire chapter is totally unrelated to the first chapter. This story is a co-op fic my friend and I are doing on a different fansite and he didn't want to make an account on ff'net, so I'm posting them both under this story. I couldn't leave his bits out or I'd have to leave his OC out, thus changing the entire storyline. Each chapter is alternating- 1 will be my chapter with Amy, the next chapter will be his with his OC Daniel Holmes. I'm also going to put up a second story for background on Holmes which is referenced in this chapter, so if you're interested head over to my profile. **

**That said, I apologize for MY wordiness. Please enjoy, and review!**

**Edit: My friend whose chapter this is decided to make an account JUST to comment on this story. xD His review is below. The lazy bum.**

* * *

><p>It was a gray San Francisco morning. There was a low fog hanging over the Golden Gate Bridge at this early hour. For most, this was a good day to stay in bed, propped up with a good padd. However, for one eager young ensign, this morning gave him a burst of energy.<p>

Daniel Holmes loved a challenge. And if there was a good one out there, Deep Space Nine was a good bet.

It had been under Federation control for only two years, but it had done a lot to stabilize the war zone that was Bajor. Income from the Bajoran Wormhole hadn't hurt, either. But there was a lot to be said for a race that had peace, but not a whole lot of idea with what to do with it. Their so-called 'provisional government' was more a hindrance than a help at times, and spoke clearly to the people that no one knew just what would make for a good permanent government.

Getting up with energy for the first time in a long time, it made Holmes feel really, truly alive. To look at him, you would see the picture of Stafleet. A young-looking twenty-two year old with thick brown hair on top of a face that held inquisitive eyes and high cheekbones. He was on the small side for height, but made up for it with how he carried himself. Even those who hated to see such a young man rise so quickly had to admit that they could put their trust in him.

There was just that one incident.

**I should never have been commended for that. I managed to save only three lives out of more than one hundred fifty, not counting that alien ship. I wish people could forget that. I wish **_**I **_**could forget.**

Commendations, a promotion, and a chance to rise quickly. All things Holmes wanted. But not for what he did. His role had been just prevalent enough to warrant attention; he was never conceited enough to feel like he was a hero. The problem was, other people did, and they never let him forget it.

But maybe, in a place so ridden with problems, he COULD forget. There were bigger fish to fry, and the accomplishments of some rookie phaser jockey might just go unnoticed. And with the distraction of doing so many different jobs, he might just be able to forget himself.

On DS9, Holmes would be working in many different capacities, learning from many different people. He'd resisted the urge to read up on them, having long learned that first impressions of people you cannot hope to change are best learned first hand. These people weren't an enemy he was out to destroy; they were colleagues, and he'd have to find a way to work with them.

That knowledge secure in his mind, he put on his uniform, straightened the pip on his collar, and made sure his boots shined. The thing about first impressions was that you weren't only making them about other people; they were also observing you.

Going to his terminal, Holmes locked it down to prevent anyone from using it. He scooped up his Starfleet-issue duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, cast a last look into his apartment, and shut the door. He hoped to shut the door on his old life as well. The _Guardian_was his past; Starfleet Academy was his past. His future lay ahead, and it began on Deep Space Nine.

The shuttle ride took more than twenty-four hours. Holmes had read every padd he could find, took inventory of his belongings again and again, and then finally retired to his quarters. It seemed like he was just about to fall asleep when the door chime shook him out of his trance.

"Come in," he called, getting up and straightening his uniform. Good instincts, as it turned out. It was a superior officer on the other side of the door.

"At ease," said the tall man. "May I come in?"

"Yes, sir. Can I get you something, sir?"

"No, thank you, ensign. I've just come to give you a quick run down of the situation on Deep Space Nine."

"…So, you'll report to Commander Sisco at first, but he may direct you elsewhere. You'll have a chance to make command decisions; to learn science and medical skills; to reinforce your security skills; and to learn about engineering. You, however, will not have the opportunity to work on your piloting skills. At least, not often. That said, I would like you to take the helm for the rest of this trip. Should we run into any issues, you'll be in command, and I'll be observing. You may not ask questions of me unless you wish to relegate your authority. I can advise you, however, in a command capacity."

Holmes flinched inwardly- he'd hated any kind of driving on earth, and he'd been studiously avoiding piloting. The commander of the shuttle wasn't going to let him off the hook, either. Holmes had known this had been coming.

"Understood."

If the other cadets could see him now, Holmes would have been mortified. He was sweating already and they were only going at half-impulse! He was definitely out of his element at the helm. But it was part of Starfleet that could not be avoided.

"Deep Space Nine is on scanners. No anomalies or spatial rifts detected… I'm reading a number of vessels. Bajoran, Federation, and…"  
>The officer at OPS looked up, were etched on his face. Aside from Holmes and the Commander, there was only the rookie cadet at OPS. He looked uneasy, and it took a nod from Holmes to get the young man to finish his sentence.<br>"-and Cardassian."

Holmes stood up from the center command seat quickly. He was uncomfortable sitting there with a higher ranking officer on the bridge as it was. This was his excuse to get up and move.  
>"Mr. Larson, bring us to yellow alert. Do they have their shields raised?"<p>

Larson checked, immediately responding with a " Yes, sir."

Holmes rubbed his chin, forcing himself not to look at the Commander.  
>"Hail DS9. Put it on main viewer."<p>

After the happy chirp that signaled a successful comm link, Holmes drew himself up to his full height and addressed the Bajoran woman on screen. She looked hassled and tired, as if under stress.  
>"This is the Danube-class vessel <em>USS Hudson<em>. Do you need assistance?"

Holmes could hear the sound of klaxon alarms in the background. But this flashing red light that went along with a red alert status gave him the answer he needed.

"We'd appreciate that, _Hudson_. We are dispatching one of our own runabouts to assist. The Cardassian vessel has been hijacked by angry Bajorans. We would like the vessel disabled, not destroyed. They have taken Cardassian hostages."

Holmes nodded. "Acknowledged, DS9. We will establish a commlink with your runabout and the Bajorans on the Cardassian vessel."

After a terse nod, the Bajoran woman broke the commlink. Holmes nodded to Larson, who patched him through to the Cardassian vessel. At the same time, a hail came from another runabout.

"Put them both onscreen. Split the screen and overlay tactical on the bottom."

"Aye, sir."

On the left side of the screen there was a Starfleet vessel. Holmes could see three people on board. The one addressing him was a thickly built male wearing the black in gold tunic of either engineering or security. The pips on his collar ranked him at lieutenant. One of the others had her back to Holmes, so all he could see was a long, dark-haired ponytail. The other man was medical personnel, judging by the pips on his collar and the medkit at his feet. He gave an amiable smile and nod.

"_Hudson_, this is the _Rio Grande_. Are you receiving us?"

"We are receiving you, _Rio Grande_. I am Ensign Holmes. We have the Bajorans on subspace. Will you allow me time for negotiation?"

"Affirmative, Ensign. But if talk fails, we'll begin tactical maneuvers in 2 minutes."

"Understood. We have you patched in."

Holmes gave the commander a look, asking silently if he wanted to take control. The commander raised his eyebrows and gave Holmes a curt nod, indicating for him to continue. Holmes nodded slightly in return, conveying that he'd heard the unspoken order. He had already transferred helm controls to the command station when he first took the conn.

"Commander Graves, take tactical. Have phasers and shields on standby. Prepare to activate on my mark."

Graves swiftly took the tactical seat at the front right of the runabout. With a few swift taps, he had powered up the defensive capabilities of the Hudson.

"Mr. Larson, break subspace silence. Hail the Cardassian vessel."

A tall Bajoran male stood uncertainly in front of the screen.  
>"What do you want?" He demanded in a gravelly voice.<p>

Holmes clapped his hands behind his back. "My name is Ensign Daniel Holmes. I'm here to ask you to power down your shields and release the Cardassian hostages."

"Why would we want to do that? We have no quarrel with you, Federation. We would regret having to open fire on you."

"Yes, that would be regrettable. But I have no wish to fire on you, but you need to show me some good faith."

"Why do we need any 'good faith'?"

"You are outnumbered, and even if you weren't, firing on your allies is not a wise course of action. Now, I understand your position, but -"

The commlink was terminated. Immediately, Holmes ordered the shields raised in the weapons powered.  
>"Beginning evasive maneuver Delta-four. Mr. Graves, target their shield generator and weapons array. Phasers only."<p>

The dragonfly shaped Cardassian ship was soon under fire from both Federation runabouts. The Rio Grande aimed for propulsion, immediately crippling the ship's ability to go to warp.

Not to be outdone, the Bajoran terrorists returned fire. The Hudson was rocked by disruptor burst on its starboard side.

"Shields at 86%!"

"Our phasers are striking non-vital areas. Their shields are at 92%."

Holmes turn the problem over in his mind while the Rio Grande drew Bajoran fire. This runabout was ill equipped for a fight against the Kelvin class Cardassian chip. Even two against one the runabouts might be overmatched. That left tactics.

"Mr. Graves, continue to aim for their shields. Give me a one second phaser burst, followed by a photon torpedo. When the torpedo reaches the edge of their shields, I want you to detonate it."

Graves raised his salt and pepper eyebrows -this was a rather obscured trick, but in this situation it was probably the most solid tactic they could rely on. The theory here was that the phasers opened a small hole in the shields, or at least weakened them. The shockwave of a torpedo being destroyed before detonation should do massive damage. The gamble here was that this could lead to full destruction of the enemy ship.

The torpedo detonated spectacularly in a shower of phaser fire and fragments of metal. The Bajoran commandeered ship rocked. It's shields had taken a pounding just now. The situation being what it was, with destroying the ship not yet being an option, they couldn't risk giving full strength to the assault. But at the same time, they couldn't hold back very much or they would be destroyed instead.

"Their shields are down!" Larson's voice Can from OPS.

"Can you detect any Cardassian life signs?"

Larson studied his readings for a moment, then looked up to meet Holmes' eyes. "Yes, sir. I have six Cardassian life signs."

"Get them out of there, Mr. Larson. Send three to the Rio Grande and put the other three on our ship behind a force field."  
>Holmes looked to the view screen.<br>"Did you copy that, _Rio Grande_?"

"We copy, _Hudson_. We're prepared to receive three Cardassians."

Holmes walked over to Larson's station, looking at the readings. The Cardassians materialized in the back. They were bound at the wrists and unconscious. They were all bloodied or otherwise injured. At a glance, Holmes estimated their injuries were non-fatal. Good. They didn't have a medic on board, and he hadn't yet covered that in any sort of detail in his command-track training.

"They're dead in the water, sir," Larson informed Holmes, sounding both proud and worried. Holmes offered him a smile and a pat on the shoulder. He was only a few years older than the cadet, and had been in his place not too long ago.

"We still need to retake that ship… Hail Deep Space Nine and ask for them to beam security personnel to us. How many Bajorans are on that ship?"

"…About a dozen, sir."

Holmes eyes danced as he had an idea.  
>"Contact Deep Space Nine and have security arrange cells for twelve incoming prisoners. We're going to beam them directly into the brig. Give security a minute to-"<p>

"Sir, they'll have shields in a few seconds!" Larson interrupted.

Holmes made a snap decision. He had no time to think about the words bursting from his lips. In one motion he grabbed a phaser and stepped over the unconscious group of Cardassians.  
>"Beam me over to the Cardassian ship. We can't risk firing on them again; they'd never survive it. I'll lower their shields from inside. The second the shields go down, I want you to beam them to the station's brig."<p>

Holmes stepped onto the transporter pad.  
>"Energize."<p>

Holmes materialized just outside of the bridge. He could hear movement and guessed that there were maybe six on the bridge. Engineering was likely to be equally populated. So which way to go…

**Engineering is more vulnerable to sabotage. I could always blow a conduit or something down there.****  
><strong>**Engineering it is.**

He jogged down the corridors as quickly as he dared. Luckily, on a ship of this size there would be little chance of accidental you running into a Bajoran. It was more likely that he would find them and get the drop on them.

**There's no sign that they've detected me. Their internal sensors must be down. Best to keep them off my trail.**

Just then, a Bajoran stepped off a turbolift. Holmes was equally surprised, but his phaser was already drawn and he took the Bajoran down with a shot to the chest. Moving quickly, Holmes stripped the man of his weapons. He looked at the turbolift, and decided to send the Bajorans a little surprise.

Former Major Dugan watched his people rapidly try to regain control of the ship. This was his first time on the bridge of a Cardassian ship as anything but a prisoner. He had known that this act of desperation would warrant retaliation, but he thought for sure that Deep Space Nine's runabouts would be no match for Cardassian warship. Apparently, he was just as guilty of underestimation of the Federation as the Cardassians were of the Bajorans.

He needed to rally his troops quickly. There was already talk of surrender. And I just would not do. Not after all they'd done to get this far.

He heard the sound of the turbolift coming in was looking forward to some good news from the engineer he had just sent down surveyed the damage.

When the turbolift doors opened, however, they at first glance appeared to be empty. As one of his officers walked over to investigate, he saw the contents of the turbolift and began to shout a warning.

Too late. The object in the turbolift exploded, throwing his officer tumbling end over end backward into the bridge.

When the dust cleared, the turbo lift had exploded in a fantastic shower of sparks and debris. The twisted remains of the phaser set to overload sat innocently in the middle of the damaged equipment. Several key relays had been damaged, causing a cascade effect through the systems. There would be one opportunity to stop the effect.

"Are internal sensors functioning?" Dugan demanded. He knew his crew had been frazzled by the external attacks and the internal sabotage both, but he expected them to push that aside as he had.

"No sir, we're working blind!"

Stifling a curse, Dugan headed to engineering. Being a terrorist, he knew the most vulnerable points of a ship were almost always in engineering and he would have bet his best earring that that was where the saboteur was headed.

Holmes peaked cautiously into engineering, withdrawing his head just in time as Bajoran sidearm fire threatened to decapitate him. Holmes fired a few shots blindly into the room. He had only a survival knife and a Bajoran sidearm to work with, sense his phaser had given its life to take out the turbo lift.

**There's too damn many of them. But maybe I can distract them.**

Holmes held to tricorder out and used it to scan for essential ship systems. He needed to do something to draw them out of engineering without actually shooting them. Having never used a Bajoran weapon before, he wasn't sure he had it on its stun setting.

The ship rocked suddenly, but not violently. Some part of Holmes registered that they had locked on to with a tractor beam.

**Good. That'll give them something else to think about while I finish my business. They've got shields, but no weapons or propulsion if my readings are correct. That leaves them in a very compromising position.**

Hearing shouts of attack, Holmes ran down the corridor, narrowly avoiding a throng of angry Bajorans hot on his heals, sidearms at the ready.

He turned a corner and ran right into another Bajoran. This was the one who had been on the view screen. Holmes felt a fist connect with his jaw. He crumbled, but managed to tackle his opponent at the knees.

Dugan brought an elbow down on Holmes' back. Holmes grunted, twisted, and drove a knee into the Bajoran's kidney. That allowed him to get free and take two strides, but Dugan's foot lashed out and caught Holmes. His world swam as he hit the metal-plated floor nearly jaw first. He tasted copper in his mouth and felt a gash on his lip. He rolled over on his back and kicked both feet out, hitting the Bajoran in the sternum. He rolled over and took off from a crouch, but was immediately tackled by another Bajoran. No sooner had he fought that one off than another one piled on.

A pistol phaser was at his head, along with three others at his back. Holmes held his hands up, gulping.

"You'll make a fine hostage for the ones we need to replace," Dugan told him in a surprisingly kind voice. "We don't wish you harm, Federation. All we want is this ship."

"You're going about this all wrong. I don't know how you got control of this ship, but you aren't going anywhere. Even with hostages. Your ship is crippled. And if you take me hostage, the entire Federation will come down on you. But if we work together, we can end this crisis"

Dugan could almost agree to the logic in that statement. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and nearly defenseless. In two minutes, main power would be offline. Not to mention the tractor beam that was persistently trying to lock onto them.

**Now is the time to become martrys. If we self-destruct, then no one will ever know how many Cardassians we killed. We'll send a message to Bajorans everywhere that they no longer need to cower. They are a free people, and the destruction of this ship will prove it!**

* * *

><p>This was bad. Holmes knew he had to do something. But with three weapons trained on him, how could he escape.<p>

One Bajoran collared him and dragged him up from the ground, hauling him to his feet. Holmes gave him a nod of gratitude. He saw a console off to the side, and decided to gamble. He feigned a weariness that he didn't actually feel in any way, and slammed shoulder-first into the console, managing to look dazed. His Bajoran 'friend' helped him up again. As he did, Holmes stole a glance at the console.

**That phaser overloading did more damage than I thought. In one minute, they'll be out of power. And I've got most of the crew here, guarding me. Which means they can only be fixing the problem from the bridge. How can I use this?****  
><strong>**For now, I've got to keep him talking.**

"Your shields are up, so you can't beam me out. Why don't you try negotiating? I've still got my commbadge on…"

Dugan nodded to Holmes, allowing him to tap his commbadge.  
>"Holmes to <em>Hudson<em>."

Graves' voice came back across the slightly static-y line.  
>"We hear you, Ensign. Go ahead."<p>

"I've been taken hostage by the Bajoran group. They're going to negotiate terms for my release. I planned to escape, but there's just too many of them. However, I recommend moving at least 100,000 kilometers away, as their engines may be unstable, if my tricorder readings are correct. Either way, their ship is heavily damaged. We all may need an emergency beam out, if we're all to survive. And-"

"You're wasting your time, ensign," Dugan cut in. "I'm aware of the countdown to main power failure, too. And your delay tactic won't work."

Holmes put on a look of innocence. "I'm doing what I can to ensure the survival of my people. Which is what you should be considering, too."  
><strong>Amatuer. He just told them about the weakened state of their ship. I was wondering how to communicate that.<strong>

"Here are the terms, Starfleet: This ship will self-destruct unless you move out of transporter range within twenty seconds. Move- now!"

Holmes' jaw dropped in utter surprise. "What do you gain from that? You lose the ship; your men; and you take no Cardassians with you! There's not even any honor in that!"

The Bajoran closed his eyes. "No. But we earn a place in history. As martrys."  
>He wheeled around to head back to the bridge, leaving Holmes without any good answers to the question of survival.<p>

**I had planned to take one of his men hostage until I could be beamed out, but it's obvious he doesn't care about that. I need to do something…in twenty seconds, their shields will drop.**

There was one option that Holmes could see.  
>"Holmes to <em>Rio Grande<em>."

"This is O'Brien; go ahead Holmes."

"Are you carrying a doctor, Mr. O'Brien?"

"Yes, we are."

"Good."

The line cut out, but not before the cry of battle was heard by the crew.

"Damnit, we need that shield down now!" O'Brien swore, his big fist slamming against the console.

"I may have an answer, Chief," Lt. Jadzia Dax said, calmly but efficiently. "We can run a pulse along our own tractor beam and into their shields. That should disrupt them long enough for a transport."

O'Brien considered the idea, noting it's merits quickly, but just as quickly noting it's downside. Which was:  
>"Who do we transport? We'll only get one shot. We either get the Bajorans or we get the human."<p>

This was the time when all anyone could do was bow their heads. Starfleet Academy taught you to never leave behind your comrades. But they also taught you that good relations with other species were the only thing the Federation has to truly rely on. In this case, deserting the twelve Bajorans to save one Ensign would have cast a large shadow on Bajor's budding entry into the Federation.

Chief O'Brien made the call. "O'Brien to _Hudson_."

"_Hudson_here. Go ahead."

"Prepare to transport the Bajorans on the Bridge. We'll handle the group near Engineering."

"…" A heavy pause, followed by; "Understood. On your mark, _Rio Grande_."

O'Brien readied the transport controls. "Dax, is the pulse ready?"

She nodded once, firmly. "Yes, chief."

"Fire."

Another blast rocked the embattled ship, sending showers of sparks flying as consoles ruptured. Holmes had been lucky- he was in the middle of four Bajorans, all of whom took the brunt of the explosion. He checked on them, noted that they would live, then ran for the bridge. He was ready to die, but that didn't mean he'd roll over and accept it if he didn't have to.

He didn't notice the Bajorans disappearing in his wake.

The last shockwave sped up the cascade effect. Dugan turned to see Holmes enter the bridge. He fired his weapon, singing Holmes' thick brown hair as the young Ensign combat-rolled to the cover of a bulkhead.

That was the last thing Dugan would see as a transporter beam seized him.

Holmes got up, wondering what had happened. He was alone.

"THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL CRITICAL OVERLOAD. AUTO-DESTRUCT INITIATED."

The cold, dispassionate Cardassian computer sounded Holmes' death knell. He exhaled, happy to have completed his mission. But he was going to die on a cold, foreign bridge. He looked at the last working console, to call up the image on the view screen. He cursed.

"Graves' to Holmes. Respond!"

"Holmes here," Dan responded absently.

"Holmes, you've got to get out of there! That ship is going to explode. Lower the shields and let us transport you off!"

Holmes tone was low and regretful as he informed Graves that "I can't do that. We're too close the station. If the ship explodes now, it'll take DS9 with it. I'm going to pilot it away with maneuvering thrusters."

Holmes was already doing that, as the computer told him that he had ten seconds to live.  
>Ten seconds to save two thousand innocent lives.<p>

**If you have to go, that's the way to do it.**

Without thinking, Holmes diverted power from shields into thrusters. He pushed the ship as hard as he dared. He heard it creak with protest in the last few seconds of it's life.

**100,000...200,000...300,000 kilometers. That's the best I can do. Anymore and I'll blow the ship myself.**

A console directly above his head exploded, and a piece of metal playing hit Holmes hard enough to knock him out.

The explosion was movie-violent. The stars themselves seemed to shudder as the Cardassian warship exploded from the inside out, sending debris hurtling in all directions. There were hardly even trace elements of the ship left.

Robert Graves swore mightily, thumping a hand against the command chair that had been recently vacated by the man who had given his life to save a group of terrorists. Graves had lost friends and even new recruits before. But never to save the lives of terrorists!

"Set a course for Deep Space Nine, Mr. Larson. We'll…we'll report in person. I'll go collect Holmes' personal effects."

Larson stiffened his face, although a tear or two betrayed his efforts.  
>"Aye, sir. Plotting a course and laying it in. Half-impulse."<p>

* * *

><p>The light were too damned bright, Holmes thought. Was this death? Heaven? Hell? Somewhere else?<p>

Then he smelled a strong disinfectant and felt a just-barely-uncomfortable bed beneath him. It wasn't hell; it was a sickbay.

He sat up with a start, but plopped back down as that hurt far too much. He repeated the gesture, this time slowly. Gradually, he made it to a sitting position without much naseau, and a dull headache.

"Where-"

"You're on Deep Space Nine," came a soothing voice. Holmes squinted, looking toward who was speaking to him. He recognized him as the doctor from the _Rio Grande_.

"I'm going to make it?" Holmes asked.

"How do you feel?"

"Like hell."

"That's a sure sign you'll live," the doctor chuckled. "I'm Julian Bashir; Chief Medical Officer."

"Ensign Daniel Holmes; I was just assigned to Deep Space Nine when all hell broke loose out there."  
>Holmes stood up, offering his hand to Bashir. "Thank you. You saved my life, I assume?"<p>

"Oh, heavens no!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Actually, you have Chief O'Brien and Lieutenant Dax to thank for that. Between the two of them, they managed to localize your commbadge and beam you out. Now then, if you're feeling up to it, your crew is waiting. I daresay they were near tears. You must be well liked."

Graves had shaken his hand stoically, informing Holmes that he had a bright future, and that he would put him down for another commendation.

Larson was more shy, but Holmes made sure to go out of his way to shake the cadet's hand and tell him that his future was equally promising.

"Just learn from my mistake," Holmes had said. "Don't get yourself blown up and you'll be okay."

After all that was said and done, Holmes was summoned to Ops. Bashir offered to walk him up, and Holmes gratefully accepted. Deep Space Nine was big, and the company was welcome, even if Holmes had known where he was going.

What awaited him was a small group. The first to meet him was Major Kira Nerys.

"I wanted to thank you for saving those Bajorans. I can assure you they'll be dealt with on Bajor. It…means a lot to have someone go out on a limb like that."

Holmes managed a tired smile. "It was my pleasure. Right up until that explosion thing."

They laughed for a moment, then Kira backed off with Bashir. Next Holmes met with the two who had saved him.

"Glad you were in one piece when we got ya," O'Brien told him while shaking his hand. "We weren't sure we caught you in time."

"Thank you again for taking the risk to save me. I owe you one already, Chief," Holmes intoned, amused.

The last one waiting for him was Lieutenant Dax. Holmes drew in a breath and straightened up.  
>"It seems I owe you on as well, Lietenant."<br>**And boy, do I not mind a bit! If you've got to owe someone, then this is the way to go!**

"Call me Jadzia," she offered. "I'm glad you made it, Daniel. Welcome aboard."

His old girl shyness suddenly front and center, Holmes fumbled over his words at first, but finally managed to spit out a coherent sentence.  
>"Thank you. It's good to be here. I look forward to working with you."<p>

At that moment, the doors of a raised office swished open. A large African American man bounded down the steps, a wide grin on his face.  
>"Ensign Daniel Holmes, I presume?"<p>

Holmes drew up formally, hands behind his back.  
>"Yes, sir."<p>

"At ease, Ensign. Let me welcome you aboard. I hope you enjoy your stay here on Deep Space Nine."

Holmes gave a courteous nod. "I'm sure I will, Commander. Thank you."

"I insist you join me for dinner later, after you've rested. Not to brag, but I've never had anyone walk away from one of my meals unsatisfied.'

"I'll show him to his quarters, Benjamin," Dax offered. "Then I can come back and help you and Jake get ready for dinner?"

Sisco grinned. "Looking for an invitation to dinner, old man?"

Dax smiled back, and Holmes' breath caught in his chest.  
>"Always, Benjamin."<p>

With that, Dax led the way out of Ops. Holmes was too tired now, but he was certain he'd be talking with this lovely female again.

**I've just pitted my wits against terrorists. This challenge will be far more interesting. I think I'm going to like it here.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are love, especially for Dan's 'daddy!' 3<strong>


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